Follow the North Star
by Leaflette
Summary: Two slaves drown in a swollen river in an attempt to outrun their master as they escape to the North. The world does not change. Life goes on. Two slaves appear in Middle Earth. The world changes. New title.
1. Prologue

Follow the North Star

By Leaflette

Summary: Two slaves drown in a swollen river in an attempt to outrun their master as they escape to the North. The world does not change. Life goes on. Two slaves appear in Middle Earth. The world changes.

Notes: I don't own LOTR. Duh. And…this is a weird-ass prologue. Stick with me, please. A bit gruesome, too.

**Prologue.**

Master Charles Gregory is a good-hearted, well-bred, nice-eyed, fine-combed soul.

Before he sets out with the dogs, he gives them each a pat on the head. He makes sure that their chains are not too tightly tied. He even feeds them a scrap of meat left from the breakfast meal. And the dogs love him—they practically worship the ground he walks on, in their own canine way. They bounce up and down, eager, waiting in incredible anticipation as he takes them by their leashes and goes on a stroll.

He walks through the forest on a familiar path. He smells the air—ah, it rained last night. Good. Good. The scent is sweet and fresh. It is a good morning for him. It will be…an _easy_ morning for him. The dogs' noses are flat against the grown, white teeth sharp and bared, growls in their chests and throats. They are hungry. Other than the scraps this morning, they have not been fed for several days. But Master has his reasons, doesn't he?

Birds sing. Crickets chirp. The sun is just beginning to rise. There is a soft breeze to be deeply valued—soon it will be unbearably hot. Another inhalation of air. He feels the ground beneath his feet, and it is soft and muddy. He sees the tracks. It is too easy.

When they arrive at the river, it is swollen and bulging. It gargles and moans as if in agony from drinking too much rain water. The dogs sniff, the scents gone because of the water. They are disappointed. There will be no hunt today, they think. No hunt, no hunt.

But Master Charles Gregory is very, very pleased. So pleased, in fact, that he begins to laugh—a hearty, almost embarrassing belly laugh that comes from deep inside his well-bred, good-hearted soul.

The slaves, however, are not as amused. They look rather shocked, in all point of fact. The girl is caught in brambles, most of her body hung out of the water. Her eyes are wide and open and full of nothing. Her mouth is parted, as though she is about to sing, but only silence comes from her heart now. The boy has his arms loosely around her—he is stuck in the brambles and branches too, though more of his body is in the shallows. His eyes are eerie and angry. His mouth is closed; the dark irises are vengeful. But there is no vengeance for the dead. And so, Master Charles Gregory laughs. He wishes that it was always like this--for, it is in itself a neverending chain, a circle that turns forever and ever and ever and ever...he owns them, he beats them, they run away, he finds them. He owns them, he beats them, they run away, he finds them.

Always he finds them.

He meanders over to the two Negroes, so desperately dead upon the shores of this river, not three miles from where they ran. He is chuckling still. He pulls out his white handkerchief, drapes it over the head of the girl.

Master Charles Gregory is a _gentleman_, after all.

He lets the dogs go. They smell the scent, they hunt, they eat, for they are animals and know no better. He turns his back; it is a gruesome sight that no well-bred man should be forced to watch. He is rather pleased with himself—he did not even have to put out a notice for their capture. They were too young, the girl was too stupid and the boy too strong-willed. They are easy to forget.

And they are forgotten.

_Will the circle be unbroken?  
By and by, Lord…by and by._

_There's a better home awaitin'…_

_In the sky,_

_Lord…_

_In the sky. _


	2. I: River

**I.**

_Blindness. Shaking, shivering, wetness. Swirling, twirling, unfurling as a lost water lily, escaping between waves of froth and foam. Open. Choke. Bloom. Die. _

_Stay lost little leaves. Bury yourselves beneath blankets of baptismal fonts. Stay lost and choke to death. Stay lost and die. _

It was Isum who surfaced first, his mouth wide and open and gasping uncontrollably as he fought the icy current. It was night, and the moon hung, low and sinister, peering at them with a lidless, unsympathetic eye. His arms fought wildly—he knew how to swim, but it seemed that in his panic he'd forgotten. His eyes searched the top of the water and he steadily regained his wits. Where was she? He hoarsely called out her name, swallowing the bitter water of the river curling around him.

He heard a half-cry, a shout of panic that was quickly silenced by a slap of icy water in the distance. He shoveled the water out of the way with his arms, blindly careening through the noisy river towards the sound. His eyes soon came upon his sister—she was clinging onto a log, trying not to drown. Relief flooded his heart, and he pounded towards her.

"Jovy," he managed to cry back, "stay tight there, I'm comin'."

She didn't know how to swim, and had begged him not to cross the river, to find a different way, but there had been no time. They already knew their very seconds away from the plantation were limited—and he'd promised they'd be all right, that he would make sure her little head did not pass under the waves.

He took big, easy strokes, letting his panic fade and letting the river float him close to her. The river had suddenly stopped its angry torrent, breathing calmly and serenely once again. He reached the log, grabbing it. She held onto it with the grip of the dead, her eyes wide and her shoulder's shaking.

"Y'ah-ite?" he breathed sharply. She managed a nod; he wrapped a secure arm around his sister. "We goin' back to the other side now, ah-ite?" 

She held on to him with one arm, uselessly trying to paddle herself with the other as he easily swam them both over to the shore. She pulled herself out of the river, then turned and gave him a hand up. They both sat there for a moment, breathing heavily.

"We should keep on," he said quickly, jumping to his feet and pulling her up beside him. "Ain't got no time 'fore he comes wit th' dogs."

But Jovy stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Where'd all th' trees go?" she asked, and even as he whirled around to tell his sister to quit acting so damn foolish, he realized she was right. They'd been running through the woods, hearts pounding, leaping over logs and tripping over twigs. Now here they were, climbing out of some big river, and there were hardly any trees in sight.

"We musta gott'n washed downriver," Isum reassured her shakily. "Don' worry none. We gotta run."

Jovy's eyes shot up towards the skies; she craned her neck. "Y'see it?" asked her brother.

"Ay-uh," she said, "Rain cleared up ratha quick-like."

Her eyes groomed the skies for the tiny, bright speck of white, looking for that one little dot scattered among the snow. She found it; it gleamed brightly, smiling distantly a bit away from the moon. It liked them. It was glad they had not met their ends in the swirling tide.

"'Dis way," she whispered, grabbing his hand and pulling him abruptly towards the north. Their feet pounded the ground as they ran, dragging the invisible chains of bondage behind them. Their eyes were wide and alert; their ears open to any sound. They could sense the dogs snapping at their heels; feel the very lash of the master's whip upon their backs…

They ran as though hell itself were following them.


	3. II: Capture

**II.**

_Farewell, vain world! I'm going home!  
My savior smiles and bids me come,  
And I don't care to stay here long!_

They made haste like runaways do—no looking back, and barely any looking ahead. Their eyes were up instead, following the pulsing star of the north like Jesus carried his cross. They did not even know where they were, yet they were driven by some inner force within to _git git git git git away_. During the day, they slept in tall patches of grass and behind rocks, and at night they sprinted towards what they thought was freedom.

They found that they could follow the river, too. It headed in the same direction as the star. Isum, of course, kept it private that he had no idea where in the name of the Lord they were going. Jovy, too, kept her thoughts unspoken and silent. On the fourth day of their running, however, a smile broke over Isum's face. They were going to make it. He could feel it in his bones.

_  
Sweet angels beckon me away,  
To sing God's praise in endless day,  
And I don't care to stay here long!_

He started chuckling to himself as they hid in a thicket and he listened to the silence behind them and ahead of them.

"What're yew laughin' at?" asked Jovy softly, cocking her head.

"We gon' make it, Jovy, can' yew see?" Isum replied, turning his head. He gestured out behind him. "Ain't no-one followin' us. I knows it." He was almost giddy, and quite unreasonably so. The sun was bright, though they were covered by the shadows of the bushes.

"Ah-ite, y'crazie," she muttered in return. "I be too tired fer yer ravin's." She curled up next to him, conveniently using his shoulder as a pillow.

_Right up yonder, Christians, away up yonder,  
O, yes my Lord, for I don't care to stay here long. _

I'm glad that I am born to die,  
From grief and woe my soul shall fly,  
And I don't care to stay here long!

It was the ninth day, and they were out of stale bread to nibble upon. And by now, Isum was cheerful no more. They'd seen no settlements, no houses, not a single solitary person since climbing out of that big river. And it wasn't half as hot as it should be. Fact of the matter was…the nights were starting to get cold. There was no sense in it. None at all.

They went on. The tenth day came. The tenth day went. The eleventh day came. The eleventh day went. So it went.

The thirteenth day.

The few berries they scavenged felt hard and beady in their stomachs. They kept running at night, but they were running blind. And they both knew it.

It was early on the thirteenth day, and the sun was just beginning to rise. Jovy refused to stop until they got somewhere, and Isum reluctantly agreed. So they went on.

_Bright angels shall convey me home,  
Away to New Jerusalem,  
And I don't care to stay here long!_

As they stopped to rest a moment by the river, Isum's ears heard a sound. Quiet clopping of horse feet. Hooves on grass. Coming fast. Coming near.

Coming for _them_.

His head jerked up, and not far away at all he saw several white men on tall horses. He yanked Jovy to her feet; she saw them and took off, Isum close behind. But they weren't too much of a match for the big horses, and they were upon them swiftly. One of the white men jumped deftly from his steed to firmly tackle Isum into the ground—Isum knocked him off, but the white man would not relent. A brutal fight of hands ensued—the white man's face bled; Isum was not any better.

A cry from the distance signaled that they'd gotten Jovy, though somehow he could hear her kicking and screaming out.

"Ain't never goin' back!" he heard her scream. The slave twisted under the white to see them slip a black bag over her head and sling her up on a horse. He was filled with something black-hot, a rage that consumed him. He threw off the white man and leapt back upon him, making his face a distinct swirl of red.

So absorbed was he that he did not even hear the other white men behind him as they slipped a bag over his head, put their hands around his neck and suddenly Isum was falling, falling, falling…

Running…

_Right up yonder, Christians, away up yonder,  
O, yes my Lord, for I don't care to stay here long._

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all of your reviews! They mean so much to me. Please continue reviewing, criticism or praise--I don't care. :) Oh, and please pay attention to the song usage. They often hold parallels and such to the story line and events that are happenin' in the chappie. Peace out. :) 


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